


Moon

by kaguya_yoru



Series: That Super Blood Wolf Moon Life [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, M/M, Vampire!Phil, Werewolf!Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:08:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22333945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaguya_yoru/pseuds/kaguya_yoru
Summary: The warmth from her brief touch lingered. Aside from impersonal medical examinations by Jemma, Phil realized that it had been the first time any one had willingly touched him since he’d been Turned.“You have control,” May said, the words almost gentle. She glanced at Clint. “And something tells me that both you and Barton need this night.”
Relationships: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Series: That Super Blood Wolf Moon Life [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1324016
Comments: 13
Kudos: 66





	Moon

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last installment in this series! It's been a year since I first thought of this series and am happy to lay it to rest.
> 
> If you've been confused about the time jumps, these stories are not listed in chronological order. The chronological order is _Super_ , _Moon_ , _Wolf_ , and lastly, _Blood_.

Phil glanced over the rim of his coffee cup and the sight sent a chill down his spine.

May stood in front of his desk. And she looked _pissed_.

Phil took a fortifying sip of the black liquid, wishing that it had a splash of the Scotch hidden in the bottom drawer of his desk, before he steeled himself.

Lowering the mug, Phil chanced a smile. “Good morning,” he said heartily.

A bit too heartily, it seemed. His cheery greeting only made May press her lips tightly together.

“Two rules,” she began in a terse voice and Phil knew that he was in for it.

“You know, I was just thinking - ”

“One.”

“ - of going to London next. I think - ”

“No field work until I deem you ready.”

“ - there’s a couple there who would be great for the team - ”

“And two.”

“ - although one did call the other a ‘demonic hell-beast’ - ”

“You make time - ”

“ - so it’s possible they may not be a couple anymore?”

This time, May waited until his voice nervously trailed off into silence before she said firmly, “You make the time to hunt.”

Phil’s stomach twisted. Months ago, in the early days after he’d been Turned, it would have been in revulsion. But his human self was slipping away with every passing day, the thirst crowding out all else.

He forced another smile onto his face. “You worry too much,” he said. “The meal replacements have been fine.”

May’s eyes narrowed. “You spent ten minutes staring at Skye’s neck yesterday.”

Horror flooded through him. He’d known his passing glance at her jugular vein had lingered a bit longer than he would have liked but ten whole minutes?

May’s expression softened somewhat. “Don’t worry. She was focused on hacking the Pentagon and didn’t notice.” she said. “So, hunt?”

Phil sighed, resigning himself to the inevitable. “Hunt.”

*

They headed to Texas in the Quinjet. There was a large feral pig population there that was wreaking havoc on the ecosystem. It made Phil feel marginally better about satiating the thirst that burned within every day; at the very least, he was helping to save the environment. The blood bags, his ‘meal replacements,’ could only hold him for so long before he longed for the chase, the sensation of sinking his fangs into struggling flesh.

“We’re here,” May called from the cockpit.

Phil, startled from his thoughts, found himself tracing one of his fangs with his tongue. Hurriedly, he retracted them before May could see and changed out of his suit to jeans, a T-shirt, and comfortable sneakers, something he didn’t mind getting dirty.

May appeared in the cargo hold. “I have a surprise for you,” she said, looking at him intently, “but you need to do exactly what I say when I say it.”

Phil raised his eyebrows. “What kind of surprise?” he asked as he unbuckled himself from the jump seat.

“Hopefully, a good one,” May replied but her expression was grim. She hit the button to lower the ramp. “Follow me.”

When they were several yards away from the plane, May motioned for him to stop. Gaze fixed on the treeline of the forest in front of them, she pulled out an I.C.E.R. and loaded it. Phil recognized the magazine as one filled with heavy-duty rounds, the kind they developed in the hopes of taking down an Asgardian.

“May, what - ”

“Be quiet,” May hissed. She didn’t aim the gun but everything about her stance screamed battle-ready.

Phil took in his surroundings. The full moon loomed overhead, illuminating the clearing they’d landed in so that it was almost as bright as during the day. Well, at least to him, anyway; night and day held little difference for him now thanks to his enhanced eyesight. His hearing had been dialed up as well and the forest was teeming with life, if he chose to listen - dirt being pushed aside by burrowing paws, the skitter of nails from a scurrying creature, the movement of air from wings in flight - predator and prey alike fighting for survival through one more dark night.

It was the sound of many creatures fleeing that first drew his attention. He and May were downwind so, even though his sense of smell hadn’t been enhanced to the same degree as his vision and hearing, Phil smelled them before he saw them. Maria Hill and another person whose scent was familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.

May’s gun snapped up in the direction of their guests, long after Phil had sensed them. The tree line broke and Maria stepped through, followed by someone Phil had never thought to see again.

Every muscle in Phil’s body tensed. “Get him out of here,” he hissed to May.

“No,” she said, speaking out of the corner of her mouth. The barrel of her gun did not waver from the center of Clint Barton’s chest and Phil felt like he was seconds away from tackling her to the ground. May lowered her weapon at a nod from Maria and the feeling abated slightly. 

“Coulson,” Clint breathed his name as if it were a revelation and Phil couldn’t stand it.

“Agent Hill,” said Phil shortly, avoiding Clint’s gaze, “remove Agent Barton from the area.”

“No.” Maria crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows. “See, when you decide to make bad decisions, then decisions get taken out of your hands.”

Clint stepped forward. “Coulson,” Clint said again, voice stronger this time, carrying clearly over the clearing between them.

“May, get me out of here,” he said, ignoring Clint. A pang went through his heart but he ignored that as well, turning to head back towards the Quinjet.

May’s eyes were still trained on Clint. “No,” she said after a slight pause. “I think you need to stay.”

Phil clenched his fists. The thirst was an ever-present aridity at the back of his throat, a scratchy dryness that never seemed to be slaked, no matter how much he drank. Fury, his Maker, had assured him that it was temporary, that it became more tolerable after the first year, but right now, with the man he’d quietly hungered for for years in front of him, it seemed unbearable. 

“If you don’t get one of us out of here, he’s going to die!”

Clint’s laughter rang across the clearing, unexpected and so achingly beautiful it made Phil’s heart clench. Phil turned to see a smile on Clint’s face bright enough to rival the moon overhead.

“Well, you haven’t changed a bit," Clint said, grinning to beat the band. “Still trying to protect me.”

"Always," Phil said immediately and with a lot more feeling than he’d intended. He pressed his lips together, holding back further declarations he had no business making.

Before he’d been Turned, he’d thought about making a move, about turning the exchange of quips over the comms, the slow smiles, and casual touches into the foundation of something more. Something that could be built into something solid and secure. Something that looked a lot like _family_ and _home_.

That was before.

“I am different," Phil said flatly. "I'm dead.”

The smile slipped off Clint’s face. In its place was the shadow of profound sorrow, heartwrenching for Phil to see. “You did die,” said Clint after a moment, voice soft. “But you’re here now.”

"So you know what I am?"

Clint took another step forward and even though most of the clearing still separated them, Phil flinched, a full body twitch away from him. Frowning, Clint stopped moving. "You're Phil Coulson, agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.," he said. "Being a vampire doesn't change that."

Phil crossed his arms. "It changes everything."

"Well, I can't say I'd want to have your diet," said Clint, a corner of his lips quirking into a half-smile, "but then again, I eat raw flesh once a month, so who am I to judge?”

“All right, that’s it, I’m done,” Maria announced loudly, exasperation evident in every syllable. Phil and Clint both startled, so intent on each other that they’d forgotten anyone else was there. Phil looked over just in time to see Maria roll her eyes. “It was bad enough listening to this over the comms and it’s not any better in person. May, you got any alcohol on that plane?”

“Yeah,” May replied, holstering her I.C.E.R. She looked similarly put out. “I know where we can find some quality Scotch.”

“Woman after my own heart,” Maria said, crossing over the clearing to her.

“Wait!” The two women looked at him, identical looks of annoyance on their faces. “I’m not playing around,” Phil said, voice tight. “You can’t leave me here with him.”

May took a step closer to him. “Phil,” she said, “after this hunt, you’re cleared for field work.”

For a moment, Phil gaped at her. “ _What?_ ” The word exploded out of him. “I spent ten minutes this afternoon imagining Skye as my lunch!”

“Yet, you did nothing,” May pointed out. “And you’ve just spent the last five minutes arguing with Barton instead of hunting even though,” her fingertips reached out to brush the back of his hand, “you’re ice cold.” 

The warmth from her brief touch lingered. Aside from impersonal medical examinations by Jemma, Phil realized that it had been the first time any one had willingly touched him since he’d been Turned.

“You have control,” May said, the words almost gentle. She glanced at Clint. “And something tells me that both you and Barton need this night.”

Without another word, she turned on her heel and rejoined Maria. The two of them disappeared past the treeline. Phil felt the thirst intensify as they walked away, something inside of him clawing to drag them both back, rip them open, and drink them down.

May was wrong. So wrong. Any control he had was paper-thin and he was just moments away from losing the last veneer of humanity and devolving into the monster he had become.

“Go,” Phil ordered Clint, a tinge of desperation in his voice.

Clint began to walk forward, determination in every step. “No.”

Phil couldn’t move. If he moved even an inch, he wasn’t sure if he could stop himself from launching himself at Clint or going after the two women, whose passage through the forest he could still hear, even though they were almost at the plane by now. Phil was fast enough that he could cross the yards separating them and rip out their throats before the women even stepped foot on the aircraft.

“Barton,” he said urgently, “you need to go now.”

“No,” Clint repeated. He kept walking forward. “I came here tonight to ask you something." 

“Clint, please.” He wasn’t sure if it was his plea or the fact that Clint was now within arm’s reach that caused Clint to stop moving. Either way, he was far too close and Phil willed desperately for every muscle in his body to lock in place.

Clint’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and Phil was helpless to keep his gaze from falling to Clint’s neck. His jugular veins bulged with what Phil knew to be iron and protein rich blood, his carotid arteries pulsed with every heartbeat, and Phil couldn’t stop his reaction. His fangs slid out so quickly they pierced his bottom lip. Phil quickly turned around but knew that it was already too late. He knew Clint had seen, knew those gorgeous, sharp eyes hadn’t missed a thing.

His heart ached so much he thought it would split into two. He’d never wanted Clint to see him like this.

“I didn’t choose to be a werewolf.”

The words were soft but they easily reached Phil’s enhanced ears. Phil’s attention sharpened despite himself. Even years after working together, Clint had absolutely refused to speak about the events that had led to him becoming a werewolf. His early medical records had confirmed that he’d been born human. He and Fury had speculated that Clint had been Turned sometime during his circus or early mercenary days but Clint himself had refused to confirm or deny.

“I thought - ” Clint sighed and there was years worth of emotions in it. “I’m not sure what I thought. But Duquesne had chosen _me_ to become part of his pack. Over Barney. And I guess I thought that meant something.”

There was silence then, for so long that Phil wondered whether Clint would continue.

“When he kicked me out, I never thought I would have another pack again. But you and Nat - ” Clint broke off. Phil heard him swallow again. Even though his back was to Clint, he had to close his eyes against the memory of the enticing column of his neck. “I want to help.”

“How can you help?” Phil asked harshly.

Every one of his senses was tuned to Clint and it was almost as if Phil felt more than heard Clint draw in a shaky breath, a whispering sensation across his skin that lighted up his nerve endings. “I became an assassin because I couldn’t ignore the feeling of the full moon in my veins,” said Clint. Phil suppressed a shiver. Clint’s voice was not far off from a savage growl. "I understand that need to run. The smell of fear in the air. The taste of blood - ”

“Stop!” Phil’s shout echoed across the clearing. He let his fangs dig into his bottom lip until blood beaded up, licked the stray droplets and pretended it was enough. “Don’t push me, Clint.”

“I’m not trying to push you,” Clint said. He hesitated a moment and then said clearly, “I’m asking you to hunt with me.”

Phil’s breath hitched, heart stuttering in his chest. Because he knew that was no idle question, knew that werewolves rarely asked to hunt with another. But what if he did lose control? What if the night ended with Clint’s blood spilling out on the earth instead of some feral pig’s? Phil didn’t know how he would live with himself.

There was a moment of silence and then the rustle of fabric, the unmistakable sounds of clothing being removed. And then Clint saying, “Coulson, look at me, please.”

Phil couldn't resist the pleading note in Clint's voice. He turned, feeling as if he were moving in slow motion, and caught his breath at the sight that greeted him.

Clint stood, naked and unashamed. Moonbeams caressed his golden skin, highlighting the curves and dips of his lean musculature, hard-earned through dedicated training. But it was his eyes that captivated Phil. Not the color, although the way they shifted between sky blue and sea green with flecks of honey-colored hues was entrancing in itself. It was the depth of emotion that drew Phil in: hope warring with uncertainty at first glance. But the longer he looked, the more he saw.

Underneath it all was the patient, watchful gaze of a hunter. An apex predator. The eyes of the wolf peered back at him and Phil understood that humanity was just a meager disguise for the animal within.

“I told you,” Clint said softly. “I understand.” And then he began to _shift_.

Startled, Phil reached out a hand. But there was nothing he could do as bones broke and reformed, muscles shortened and lengthened, and hair grew and thickened, darkening as it did so. Clint’s face contorted in pain, grimace turning into a snarl as his mouth reshaped itself into a muzzle. In less than a second, the change was complete but Phil, with his enhanced vision, had been able to track every single moment of the agonizing transformation from man to wolf.

Phil’s hand slowly lowered. The wolf regarded him solemnly, a too intelligent mein to his gaze. Clint seemed to have retained much of his height as a man, now translated into length; sitting on his haunches as he currently was, the top of Clint’s head almost reached Phil’s chin. In the moonlight, his blue-grey fur gleamed, silver in some places, almost purple in others. Clint didn’t move as the silence stretched between them, eyes blinking occasionally, apparently awaiting Phil’s next move.

Clint was beautiful.

Phil drew in a startled breath at the realization. The thought itself wasn’t new. It was one he’d had before, while watching the intricate play of muscles in Clint’s arms and back as he pulled back on his bow, the delighted grin Clint couldn’t suppress when he sparred with Natasha, or the slight furrow in Clint’s brow as he helped the junior agents correct their forms on the shooting range. But this time, that knowledge was deepened by the fact that Clint had just bared himself in front of him, both literally and figuratively. Phil would never forget Clint’s transformation. Or the pain that had accompanied every moment.

Just like him, Clint hadn’t chosen to be what he now was. But he’d adapted. He’d carved out a life for himself. And above all, he’d worked to be a good man. He hadn’t let being a werewolf stop him from doing what’s right.

Fury had been the first one to tell him that being a vampire would only change him if he let it. It was time that he listened.

“I will hunt with you.” The words escaped Phil’s lips before he’d consciously decided to say it.

Clint blinked. And then his head tipped back and he let out a bloodcurdling howl that echoed through the still night. Phil couldn’t help but grin, the points of his fangs digging into his bottom lip, at the obvious embarrassment Clint displayed when he finished, ears flattening and body slumping so that his head was lower than his back.

“I understand,” Phil said and felt the rightness of the words settle into his bones. He did understand. Thirst still ravaged his throat but he strengthened his resolve against it. He could overcome his instincts and Fury and Clint served as his templates. More than anything else in this world, he was determined to never let Clint feel the points of his fangs.

Phil stepped up beside Clint. Clint rose so that he was on all four paws and turned so that he also faced the treeline at the far edge of the clearing. Phil resisted the urge to plunge his hand into Clint’s thick blue-grey fur.

“Let’s hunt.”

Later, when the thirst had been slaked, when the sky was beginning to lighten with the first streaks of impending daylight, he and Clint lay in a different clearing, catching their breath after a successful hunt. Clint _shifted_ again and Phil couldn’t stop himself from fulfilling another desire, from capturing Clint’s mouth with his own, from parting Clint’s lips and tasting the spoils of that night, blood and guts and something that could only be uniquely Clint.

“Coulson,” Clint gasped when Phil finally pulled back, eyes sparkling and chest heaving, so obviously alive in that moment.

“Call me Phil,” he said and lost himself in Clint’s mouth again.


End file.
